Doppelganger
by Aspermoth
Summary: Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself? ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1: A Mysterious Gift

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't).

**Author's Message:** Well, here we are at last. My second House fanfic and the most complicated fanfic that I think I've ever written. And for all the people who support House/Chase relationships, please don't kill me about the vaguely anti-House/Chase comment below. I'm not against House/Chase, I just don't believe in it.

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

**Anti-Warning:** This used to be a no-update threat, but as quite a few people have reviewed (and I've been told that non-update threats put people off) I've decided to remove it. So ignore this message!

* * *

Nikki opens her eyes and immediately wishes that she hasn't. She feels ridiculously tired, so tired that she closes her eyes again, feeling the blood pulsing through her eyelids. Odd. She knows that she had a good night's sleep. Maybe she's ill. Oh God no. She can't be ill. But if she can have five more min- 

"Nikki! Time to get up!"

Oh dear. Her dad. Nikki forces herself to sit up, shivering, and presses her palm against her forehead. Fever, check. Tiredness, check. It's probably something viral. She stands up and staggers towards the mirror, looking into it. The seventeen-year-old that looks back does, as always, appears about thirteen instead, with medium brown hair that falls to her shoulders. Luckily for her, she doesn't look_ too_ bad. Her dad, Alex, hopefully won't notice. She hates it when he overreacts to even the smallest of illnesses. She groans from annoyance and leans her head against the mirror, relishing the cool glass against her skin. Well, there's nothing for it but to go down and face the music. She makes her wandering way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Alex looks up from a newspaper, carefully scrutinizing her face.

"You aren't well, are you?" he asks.

"It's just a virus, please don't overreact," Nikki begs, leaning her head on the table.

Alex rolls his eyes.

"When do I ever overreact?" he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer, "I'll just take you to the clinic at Princeton-Plainsboro for a check."

Nikki groans before saying, "What about school?"

"Stuff school. You're going to the clinic."

Valentine's Day is not really a big event at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, but it happens there as well as everywhere else. The staff don't post huge pink hearts around or give out balloons, but there is always an air of happiness and potential romance hanging in the air. All except for the air in a one meter radius of Dr. Gregory House. An air of general pessimism hangs around him like smoke. Nobody even bothers to mention the words "Valentine's Day" in his presence. It's like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Nobody can stand waiting around for House to finish his full five minute rant against it. Crowds are practically parting before him as he limps down the corridor towards the elevator. He _can_ beat Cuddy, he _can_ beat Cuddy... He presses the 'up' button and waits, tapping a rhythm on his cane. Come on, _come on_, before Cuddy can-

"House!"

-catch him. Damn. He sighs and looks up at the ceiling, pretending that he can't hear her. Cuddy marches towards him like a solider going into battle, her stiletto heels clicking in the floor, her skirt short enough to merit a thousand jokes. Ooh boy, he's in trouble now.

"House!"

Ah, she doesn't give up. If only the lift could come now... wait, is that it? Yes!

"House. Clinic. Now," she commands.

"Sorry, no can do. My elevator's here."

The doors are beginning to open, all he needs is a little more time. But uh oh, Cuddy's got her strict face on. He needs more time but he's running out of it...

"House, you are going to go to the clinic _now_."

The doors are open and House steps gratefully through. Cuddy is close enough for him to make a show of admiring her breasts, which he does for comedic effect, but not close enough to stop him. He presses the button and waits impatiently for the doors. The doors shut before Cuddy can say another word and the elevator begins to move. Game, set and match to House. He suppresses a small, self-satisfied grin and stares at the ceiling, waiting for the floor with his office. Roughly five minutes later, House is limping down the hall to his office. He pauses at the door, peering through the glass with a frown. There's something on his desk that wasn't there when he left for lunch. Something that's wrapped up in red paper. Something that has a _ribbon_. Surely nobody could be _that_ stupid, could they? Somebody has left him, the infamous Dr. House, a _Valentine's Day present_! He enters the office and sits down at his desk, letting his cane drop to the floor, before picking up the little parcel. The somebody has obviously given this little parcel a lot of care. The paper is of that high-quality, shiny stuff that resembles tin foil and is hell to wrap anything with, especially something with sharp edges like the little box it covers. The ribbon is made of gold velvet and shimmers when it catches the light.

House turns the box over in his hands, searching for a label or tag. Could it have been put there by accident? Unlikely, as the door _does_ have his name on it, but still possible. Except for the fact that the box has a tag on it shaped like a heart with his name typed on it. _Doctor Gregory House_, right there in one of those fancy fonts that it takes two hours to read. He checks his watch. Cuddy shouldn't be along to nag him for another five to ten minutes, so he has time to unwrap this present, make a few sarcastic remarks to nobody about it then throw it in the bin. He picks at the edge of a piece of sticky tape with a fingernail until it comes loose then peels the entire piece off. He likes doing stupid little things like that well. It proves he can still do something. With pedantic care, he removes all the tape, screws it up into a small ball on the edge of his desk and unfolds the paper. Inside is a white cardboard box with a printed label on the top. House reads it with a frown.

_Dear Greg, _it says,_ I have been close to you for some time. I see you every day and every time I see you, talk to you, my feelings for you grow. I can barely last the day without being near you. I give you this little seasonal gift to let you know that I am near you and that I care about you. I love you with all my heart. Happy Valentine's Day._

His curiosity aroused, House pulls open the lid. Inside of the box is a foam cushion with a ring tucked into a horizontal slit. The thick band of metal is made of white gold and there is a single round stone set into it. House doesn't know much about jewellery, but he can tell that the stone is nothing too special. It's probably only quartz, or something like that, but the powerful emotion attached to it is more important by far. In spite of himself, House feels rather touched by the effort. He expected something cheap and tacky. He pulls it with uncharacteristic care from its nesting place and takes a good look, discovering the words _I Love You_ engraved around the inside. House wonders who it was who left it there. Cuddy? Probably not. Cameron? Possibly. A nurse? Unlikely. Chase? Definitely not. Even though he is slightly girlish for a guy. He fiddles with the ring absentmindedly as he contemplates that the day that Chase gives him a Valentine's Day present is that day that he will throw himself off of the hospital roof. Without really concentrating, he slips the ring experimentally onto the first finger of his left hand. It feels like a nice fit, but he tries to take it off anyway. It won't come off.

House looks down at what he's doing and tries again. It refuses to budge, clinging stubbornly to his digit, unable to slide back over his knuckle. Still, it definitely isn't cutting off the blood flow and all he should need to remove it is to add a little bit of saliva for lubrication. But before he can do that, Cuddy storms into the room with an expression as dark as storm clouds. Uh oh, House has been a baaad wittle boy.

"House, you get your ass down to the clinic _right now_ or God help me, I will _triple_ next week's clinic time!" she snaps.

So the game begins and score one for Cuddy.

"Can't you just slap me on the wrist and send me on my merry way?"

House has drawn equal. Can he pass the 'almighty woman'?

"No, actually, I can't," Cuddy replies. "Vogler objects pretty strongly to it and so do I. Clinic. Now."

Cuddy is ahead once more. Is House equal to the challenge?

"All right, all right, you sound like a broken record."

Yes! He is drawing with her once more! House reaches for his cane then stands up. He takes a few awkward steps towards the door before turning around to face Cuddy once more.

"You know, it's a double-standard of this society that doctors have to go to the patient," he muses aloud. "We doctors have our mobility problems too. It's a complete lack of sympathy."

He's winning, he's winning. She's bound to give up soon... Except that Cuddy is a woman well practised in the art of bantering with House.

"That's what we have elevators for," she says. "Your first patient _will_ be seen within five minutes and don't even try to get out of this because I _will_ know. And _you_ will get an extra hour of clinic for every patient you skip out on. Have a nice day."

House's face falls. Not only has he failed to get out of clinic duty, but Cuddy has bested him in a battle of wits. She smiles in a way that conveys self-satisfaction more than happiness and walks out of the room. House limps after her through the door and watches her leave.

"Your skirt's too short! I can see your ass!" he yells after her in a half-hearted attempt to save his pride.

Cuddy fails to respond verbally but, as he watches, tugs her skirt down slightly. House lets himself smile slightly then limps back to the elevator to find his first patient.

* * *

So there it is! If you want to review without being a site member, send me an e-mail (they count too). Reviewer responses will be put into my LiveJournal. See you soon! 


	2. Chapter 2: Poking Sick People

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't).

**Author's Message:** The solar-powered nodding thing mentioned is this chapter is a real object. My Media Studies teacher gave it to me as a prize and it's bloody cool. It lives on my windowsill, if you're interested. And from now on, I will be endeavouring to update as often as possible. It won't be regularly, but I do have Chapter Three to post as well. I'll post that one in about a week or so, less if I really feel desperate :-D

**Edit:** Thank you twizliz for noticing that I'd forgotten to change Nikki's temperature to 102.4 in House's speech. I need to get somebody to proofread my chapters for me x.x

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

A nurse hands House the file for his first patient (Nikki Wilson) as he passes and he pauses outside the clinic room, formulating an opinion of the people inside. This patient, as House sees through the transparent wall, is a teenager who looks about thirteen. She is accompanied by an older man and they are apparently having an argument, he standing up and her sitting on the table. House watches the argument with interest, hypothesizing that unless teenagers are developing some very worrying dating habits, the girl is with her father. It's all very interesting to watch a teenager and her father shouting at each other but after a certain amount of time, it starts to loose its appeal. For House, this time is about one and a quarter minutes. He pops a Vicodin, swallows it dry and pushes the door open with more force than is necessary. It bangs off of the wall in an impressive fashion and the two inside turn and stare at him. The man looks rather annoyed. The girl flashes him a smile that House finds oddly familiar.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" the father says.

"Yeah, I'm looking for sick people. Do you know where I can find any?" House shoots back.

The father looks unimpressed.

"Are you a doctor?" he asks.

"No, I just like poking sick people with the cane," he says, the very picture of seriousness.

The father glowers.

His daughter murmurs, "Dad, stop it."

He looks at her and she glances meaningfully at him. He leaves the room with some reluctance, giving House a dark look as he passes. She looks at him with an apologetic expression for her father's behaviour. He examines her with something close to interest, his cane planted firmly between his legs.

"Shouldn't you have some adult supervision?" he asks.

She adopts a slightly wearied expression as she answers.

"I get that a lot," she explains. "I'm actually seventeen. So you are...?"

"Dr House."

"I'm Nikki. It's nice to meet you."

Nikki holds out her hand. House stares at it but makes no move to take it, so she withdraws it again and looks at her knees. House lifts up her file and opens it.

"So what's wrong with you?" he asks bluntly.

"I feel really tired and I've got a fever of 102.4 degrees."

House looks at her with an expression that says all too clearly "You're wasting my valuable time for _that_?". She smiles again.

"I know, I know, it's probably flu. But between you and me, my dad is a little-"

She stops mid-sentence with a hiss of pain and presses her forehead into both hands, her elbows on her thighs. House takes a step forward, curiosity beginning to grow. Nikki screws up her face in pain and begins to scream, tears oozing through her eyelashes and rolling down her cheeks. Her father bursts through the door.

"Nikki? Nikki!"

The father puts his arms around the screaming teenager as House limps to a draw and pulls it open. He pulls out a dose of Propofol, pushes up Nikki's sleeve and plunges the needle into her arm. He depresses the plunger and the liquid swirls into her vein. For a few seconds, there is no change. But then Nikki falls silent. Her face relaxes and she falls limp into her father's arms. House throws the used needle into the nearby bin then turns with his usual calm demeanour to the other man.

"You might want to go home and pick up a few things your daughter," he says. "She's here for the long haul."

The Ducklings are in the diagnostics room. Foreman is busy making coffee and Cameron is showing Chase a small nodding figure that she has bought to liven up the room. Chase isn't really that interested, but he listens politely as Cameron explains.

"It's solar-powered," she says, "and it works on the theory of perpetual motion. Watch."

She flicks a little black switch and sets the pink plastic creature down onto the table. It begins to nod slowly, its round vacant face staring into the distance. Cameron looks to Chase for approval.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Cool," he comments.

He is saved from commenting further by the arrival of House, who bursts through the door and begins talking at once.

"Caucasian female, age seventeen, comes to the clinic with – what the _hell_ is that?"

He leans over Cameron's nodding figure, examining it with interest. Foreman looks up from the coffee machine.

"Uh, House? The patient?" he says.

House ignores him, saying, "This is cool. Does it just keep on nodding and nodding or does it do something else?"

Foreman patiently repeats, "The patient?"

"Oh right," House replies. "Caucasian female, seventeen, comes to the clinic with lethargy and a fever of 102.4–"

"It's the flu," Chase interrupts, always the first to make a diagnosis. "Recommend liquids, bed rest and send her home."

"Good, exactly what I would have said–" Chase looks reasonably please "–except that flu doesn't usually cause a headache bad enough to scream over. Nice monkey but no banana."

"It was that painful?" Cameron asks.

"A healthy ten on the scale," House confirms.

He walks over the whiteboard and writes a quick list of the three symptoms that they know.

"So," he says. "Diagnosis?"

"Could still be the flu," Chase insists.

"With a headache that bad?" Cameron.

"Well, yeah. Could be." Chase.

"But what about meningitis?" Cameron.

"No neck pain." Foreman.

"It might still be in the early stages." Cameron.

"It could be a brain tumour." Foreman.

House finishes writing the list of possible complaints and sets the pen down on the nearest table.

"Right. So do all the basic labs and arrange a CT scan and lumbar puncture," he commands.

Nobody moves. House looks at them.

"What are you waiting for? A formal invitation? Get moving! Come on!"

The Ducklings leave the room and scatter. House reaches for the pen only to find his hand closing on empty air. Odd. He's sure that that was where he left it. He moves his hand a few inches to the left and finds the pen, picking it up. He returns to the whiteboard and begins to think.

* * *

Thank you for your kind reviews! To be specific, I thank **Knight Wild**, **Little-Delia**, **bmax **and **evila-elf **(who all reviewed here) as well as **Megan** (who reviewed by e-mail). The responses will be written on my LiveJournal after I've finished posting this, which I will post a link for in my profile. 


	3. Chapter 3: Wilson and Wilson

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't).

**Author's Message:** While writing this, I wasill with tonsillitis, so the illness contributes to any sucking that is taking place in this chapter. I tried as hard as I could, I swear... It's also slightly shorter than the two previous chapters, but that's because I wanted to end on a good moment. I'll do reviewer response on LJ shortly.

**Warning:** Chapter Four will not be coming until Chapter Seven is written and this might take more than a week. However, I will work as hard as I can when I have time. I've been getting a lot of homework recently and it's eating away all my free time... _sobs_

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

Nikki opens her eyes and looks up at an unfamiliar ceiling with no idea why she is lying in a bed when she last remembers screaming in pain from an unbearable headache. Her head is still aching, but it is less intense that it was. More urgent in her mind is the sudden stinging pain in her left arm. She turns her head slowly, trying not to jolt it, and her gaze falls on a young blond man in a lab coat. He begins to pull back the plunger of the syringe in her arm and it slowly fills with swirling red. Nikki decides to say something as he hasn't noticed that she is awake.

"You gonna pay for that blood?" she asks.

The doctor looks up and smiles.

Nikki continues, "It's $5 a sample, but I'll give you a discount for multiple purchases."

"I'll pass," he laughs. "How are you feeling?"

"Lots of things hurt, but I'll get over it. Are you taking that for anything special?"

"Not really," he says. "Just the basic lab tests."

There is a pause in the conversation. The doctor pulls the syringe out of her arm, puts it in a small cardboard tray and tapes a small cotton pad of the puncture wound in Nikki's arm. Nikki lifts up her right hand and examines the IV needle that is sticking into the back of it with vague interest.

"You've got an odd accent," she comments. "Are you British or something?"

"Australian," the doctor corrects. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dr. Chase."

"I'm Nikki," Nikki says.

She smiles in a friendly way then yawns. Chase picks up the syringe full of blood.

"I've gotta take these down to the lab, but I or one of my colleagues will see you later, okay?"

"Sure," Nikki replies. "I can take a nap or something. I'm not going to go anywhere, am I?"

House watches Chase walk away in the opposite direction before hobbling up to the window to look in. He does it often. It's almost as though looking at the patient can help to diagnose them. It doesn't work, but it has developed into a habit. He stays like that for several minutes, just staring. Then somebody speaks at his shoulder.

"The patients probably prefer to be talked to rather than watched," Wilson says.

"And the doctors prefer to watch them rather than talk to them," House replies. "What are you doing here?"

Wilson doesn't answer. He is looking through the window himself, a small frown on his face. House nearly grins.

"What happened to your 'talking not watching' mantra?" he asks with amusement.

Wilson ignores the question.

"Does she... look... familiar to you?" he asks slowly.

House frowns too. He looks at his only friend doubtfully (in spite of his own earlier feelings of recognition), then turns to look at the girl once more. Almost as though she can sense the double gaze, she turns her head in their direction and opens her eyes. She looks at them, then adopts a frown that looks so _familiar_ to House that he is sure that he has seen it before. He turns his head to mention this to Wilson and freezes. He can see the exact same frown _on Wilson's face_. And the name on her file, _Nikki Wilson_. It was all so obvious.

"Come on," he says bluntly.

Without waiting for a response from Wilson, House limps towards the door of the room and walks in. Wilson follows, confused beyond belief. Nikki turns her head to follow them and looks up in surprise; she had heard the rumors that Dr. House never visited his patients, yet here he was. It was bizarre. But the other man, the one who looks rather familiar, she can't put a name to. Dr. House decides to make the introductions.

"Dr. James Wilson," he says, pointing to Wilson with his cane, "meet Nikki Wilson," pointing at Nikki.

Nikki's face lights up in recognition as House exits the room. Wilson, however, is still blissfully ignorant.

"I'm sorry about Dr. House," he begins. "He's-"

"Forget about him," Nikki interrupts. "Are you really Dr. James Wilson? From Oncology?"

Wilson stares at her. What the _hell_ has House been saying him _this_ time? He decides that whatever it is that he's done, it's better to admit it than lie about it.

"Yes, I am," he says. "Why do you want to know?"

Nikki looks slightly hurt.

"Don't you recognize me?" she asks, then laughs, "Nah, you wouldn't. I was five when you last saw me."

The cogs in Wilson's brain click into place. Five years old. Nikki Wilson. The realization obviously appeared in his eyes because Nikki smiled in a way that he did indeed remember.

"It's great to see you again, Uncle Jimmy," she says.

Outside the room, watching through the window, House suppresses a snort of laughter. _Uncle Jimmy_! Wilson is never going to live this down.

* * *

Who worked it out, I wonder? Well, if anybody did, I'm happy that you didn't say so. It would have been such a spoiler! Anyway, big thank yous to my reviewers: **Janie Canuck**, **QT Roo**, **evila-elf** and **twizliz**. I also thank **Samantha** who has be e-mailing me very enthusiastically (I wish I could keep up with demand).


	4. Chapter 4: Private Soap Opera

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't).

**Author's Message:** It's true that Vicodin and alcohol don't mix well. Alcohol can make the side effects of Vicodin worse, resulting in unconsciousness or death. So House is a bad boy for drinking... well, feh. His funeral. Beware of teh swear!

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

"So what are you going here?" Nikki asks as Wilson sits on the end of her bed. "Do you guys think that I've got cancer or something?"

"Well," Wilson says, "it is a possibility that you might have a brain tumor."

House calls from outside, "I never told you that!"

"I was looking for you for half an hour!" Wilson replies. "I checked your department office and saw the whiteboard!"

"Okay then!"

Nikki giggles. Wilson looks at her in disbelief.

"You're amused by House?" he asks. "You don't hate him at first sight?"

"He pisses my dad off, and he makes me laugh," Nikki says thoughtfully. "He's my hero. Are you his friend?"

Wilson nods.

"Much as I want to get to know you," Nikki says, "I think that you should go though before my-"

"What the _hell_!"

"-dad gets here," she finishes, wincing slightly at the noise.

Alex Wilson is standing in the doorway, a rucksack full of Nikki's things in one hand and a horrified, furious expression on his face. Wilson looks equally horrified. House, who is still standing outside, looks on with interest, wondering if he should intervene. Alex takes a few steps into the room and the door swings shut behind him.

"What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here?" he asks with scarcely veiled venom.

Wilson doesn't reply. Nikki begins to look worried.

"Dad, it's okay," she says. "I don't mind."

Alex glances briefly at her before turning his gaze back to his brother.

"You don't know what he did," he says. "What's he's _responsible_ for."

"No I don't," Nikki returns somewhat coldly. "You never told me. You just cut Uncle Jimmy out of my life for no reason. _Why_?"

"Don't ask!" Alex snaps. "I'm not willing to tell you!"

"I'm not a little kid any more!" Nikki snap back. "You don't need to protect me!"

"If I didn't need to protect you, you wouldn't be here!"

Wilson stands up, deciding to leave before he gets dragged into the argument. However, Alex puts out an arm and blocks his path.

"Not yet," he says, cold as ice. "You tell her what you did. Then she'll understand."

House is definitely interested now. It's like one of his crappy soap operas, playing out before his eyes. Definitely a focus for interest. Wilson sighs and turns around to face Nikki, awkwardly conscious of the fact that his best friend is listening intensely to the family drama unfolding before him. The bastard is going to have fuel for a month. Nikki is looking intensely at him, curiosity burning in her eyes. Wilson begins.

"Well," he says. "Twelve years ago, on your mom's birthday, I took her out for a drink because," he pauses, unsure of how to refer to his brother, then continues, "your dad was away on business. We both drank more than we probably should have done and on the way home... we were in a crash. I broke my arm and your mom... your mom died."

Nikki raises an eyebrow, saying "So what?" without words. Alex glares at Wilson again, then looks at his daughter.

"_He_ was driving," he snarls.

"The truck driver was drunker than I was!" Wilson snaps back in an uncharacteristic display of anger. "He could have stopped in time if he had been sober!"

"And you wouldn't have driven out in front of him if you'd been sober!" Alex yells.

"_Cut it out!_" Nikki shouts. "I've got a fucking headache and it's late. Can't we argue about this tomorrow?"

Suddenly, Alex's wrath vanishes and he is all love and concern. He walks quickly over to her bed and sits down next to her, leaving the back next to it, then pressed a hand to her forehead. Nikki swatted it away, smiling slightly at the futile but well-meant gesture.

"Dad, give it a rest," she laughs. "We know I'm sick or I wouldn't be here."

Wilson watches, surprised that she isn't showing more grief and anger. He's also surprised that his brother's mood can change so quickly from fury and hatred to fatherly affection. The answer is that it can't. Alex fixes a deadly stare on him.

"_Get_. _Out_," he says. "I don't want you seeing Nikki again. Stay away from her or, so help me, I will sue your ass."

Wilson knows that he must obey. He gives Nikki a small wave, which she returns from behind Alex's back, then walks out of the door. Unsurprisingly, House is still standing outside there. Wilson gives him an exasperated look.

"I suppose you were enjoying that?" he asks.

"Are you kidding? It was better than a soap opera! What did you want me for anyway?"

"I was _going_ to ask you over for a drink, but I think I've changed my mind."

House shrugs; it's all the same to him. He can either take risks with alcohol and Vicodin at Wilson's or take risks with alcohol and Vicodin at home. The former is probably safer than the latter, but he doesn't really care.

"I can't make it tonight anyway. My hooker can't reschedule," he quips.

Wilson rolls his eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, the two friends parted and made their separate ways home (Wilson to a house and wife, House to just a house) while a man sat at the bedside of his sick daughter late into the night.

* * *

Slightly cliche, but what can I do? Bleh... I'll do reviewer responses tomorrow. It's almost 9pm and I'm tired... and I have to get up at 7:10am tomorrow. So... yeah.


	5. Chapter 5: Late Starts and a Strong Grip

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't), Chase/Nikki (added this chapter, couldn't resist)

**Author's Message:** Yes, it is an obligatory 'House-gets-up-late' scene, but it does have purpose. And yes, I know that we've only seen the Cuddy who yells at House all the time, but she will be nicer later on. Promise! And I just couldn't resist giving Chase somebody. It does actually help out later on (handy, ne?).

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

House's cell phone begins to ring, the high-pitched beeps piercing the veils of sleep that are hanging around his conscious mind and the rattling of the vibrations crashing through the promise of a headache. His eyes still closed, he fumbles around with his left hand for the device and flips it open.

"What?" he asks brusquely.

"_Where the hell are you?_"

Cuddy's voice is reduced to a furious hiss that jolts House into full wakefulness.

"What's wrong with you? Didn't you get any last night?" he asks, his wit not at its best when fogged with a slight yet fully apparent hangover.

"Have you _any_ idea what time it is?"

"It can't be that late," House argues. "My alarm hasn't gone off yet."

"House, buy a new alarm clock! It's 10:32!"

_Shit_. House looks at his alarm clock. The dial confirms what Cuddy has already told him and he can see that the off button is pushed down. But he didn't press it. He knows he didn't. So who did?

"So I slept in late," he says. "It's not _that_ big a deal."

"It's not _that_ big a deal when you have a case _and_ clinic duty to see to?" Cuddy snorts. "Get up, get here and get to work. _Now_."

She hangs up on him and House returns the favor. As he puts the phone down, something silvery catches the light. It's the ring, the Valentine's Day present. The one that is stuck on his finger. He sits up, wincing as his bum leg gripes over its lack of Vicodin. What to do first, he wonders. He has three choices. He can take his first Vicodin of the day, he can get dressed and hurry into work to please Cuddy, or he can try to take off that damn ring. Considering the fact that he has never hurried into work for the purposes of pleasing anybody, that leaves two choices. House reaches for the bottle of Vicodin, takes two and swallows them dry as always. His cane is leaning against the cabinet that his phone is lying on. He grabs it with his right hand, uses it to push himself to his feet and limps off to the bathroom. Soap should do the trick. However, it doesn't. Even with liberal quantities of soap, the ring refuses to budge. How could he have got it over his knuckle in the first place if it refuses to go back the other way? He pulls on it until his whole finger aches from the strain, then gives up. He washes the soap off, uses the other facilities in his bathroom and goes to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later, he is limping towards the door and feeling around in his jacket pocket for his keys. He always keeps his keys in that pocket. They aren't there.

Slightly annoyed, in spite of the fact that he doesn't actually like going to work, House stops and checks all the other pockets. Still no keys. _Shit_. Where the _hell_ can they be? He looks around his living room. The half-empty bottle of amber alcohol sits on the mantelpiece, looking cold and lonely in the watery light of the spring sun. The piano sits nearby, elegant and majestic, the lid up to reveal the glistening black and white keys. House pauses to just look at the piano. Not many people know that he can play; it's one of his secrets. A few hours of mulling a case over whilst playing the piano can, for him, work wonders. What was he doing? Oh yes, he's supposed to be finding the keys. He catches sight of them on top of the television. Why on earth did he put them there? He must have been drunker than he thought last night. Though what possessed him to abandon his keys on the television is anybody's guess. He's sure that he didn't drink _that_ much... House limps out of the door and climbs into his car. One leisurely drive to work later, he makes his way through the doors of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital at a record late of a minute past midday. Oh boy, lunchtime.

"Tuck your chin downwards," Foreman instructs.

Nikki obeys with some reluctance, vaguely aware that pain is about to ensue and not looking forward to it. However the hand that holds hers squeezes gently and she smiles at the man to whom the hand belongs.

"This is gonna hurt a bit," Chase says.

"How much?" Nikki asks.

"I don't know. I've never had it done."

"Oh. Crap."

"Don't worry," he reassures her. "I'm here for you."

"Thanks."

Nikki looks into Chase's eyes, which are bluish green. They put her in mind of the ocean; they're so nice. And he's so pretty for a guy... She struggles not to blush and smiles shyly at him. He smiles back at her, a warm friendly smile that makes her blush after all. It's at that moment that Foreman inserts the needle between her vertebrae.

"Ow," she says. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. That hurts."

"It's all right," Chase says. "Squeeze my hand if you want to."

Nikki squeezes his hand tight. Chase doesn't say anything, but he does wince slightly. Foreman slides the needle out of her back, wipes the small puncture wound clean and applies a dressing.

"Now," he says, "you've got to stay flat for about an hour, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say," Nikki replies as he leaves the room.

Realizing that she is still holding it, Nikki releases Chase's hand and he examines it. The pressure exerted by her grip has turned the flesh a tasteful pink.

"Wow. You've got a really firm grip," he laughs. "I pity the one who holds your hand during childbirth."

"Sorry," Nikki murmurs. "It just hurt, that's all."

"That's okay."

Nikki looks into Chase's eyes again as the conversation lulls. They're so beautiful, those eyes... Oddly unwilling to leave her side, Chase attempts to strike up casual conversation, which is a slightly tricky thing to do when you're kneeling on the floor of a hospital room with a potentially very sick teenager.

"So where's your dad gone then?" he asks.

"Home. He stayed here all night, so he went home to shower and get some sleep and whatever."

Her expression alters as she thinks of her father to one of melancholy contemplation. Bothered by her apparent unhappiness, Chase takes her hand again, her skin hot against his, and looks into her eyes.

"Everything is gonna be fine," he says. "I promise."

Nikki's tawny eyes are fixed on him, trusting and hopeful and... And suddenly, Chase is aware of how close his face is to hers, of how he can feel her every breath lightly caress his lips, of how it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her... but he can't, it wouldn't be allowed, it's against the rules, and yet...

"You can if you want to," Nikki breathes. "If you... want it... too..."

Nervously, hesitantly, Chase moves his lips closer and closer to Nikki's, his eyes closing instinctively and then... their lips touch. Nikki's lips are soft and supple as he gently pushes closer to her. His tongue flicks between her lips and she opens her mouth to welcome him in, sharing with him this deeply emotional experience. Roughly a minute later, Chase pulls away with a final chaste kiss on her lips, leaving the pair of them breathless and excited and nervous all at once.

"Wow," Nikki sighs.

Then she winces in pain, rubbing her arm.

"Is something wrong?" Chase asks, an unsuitable level of concern in his voice.

"Yeah. Feels like a pulled muscle or something. Really deep down."

"I'll go and get something for you. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

And he leaves the room to uncover some morphine, his heart and head involved in a serious argument of ethics, while Nikki sighs happily in spite of her new symptom.

* * *

This is actually the third draft of the Chase/Nikki scene. The first time, I had them kiss because Nikki begged. Then I thought, "Nah, Chase wouldn't do it." and changed it so that no kissing was involved . And THEN I see the second episode of series two, felt very annoyed and changed it _again_ so that kissing was invovled once more. It was annoying, I must say. Well, enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6: Conversation and Frustration

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't), Chase/Nikki

**Author's Message:** Bit of a filler chapter to be honest, but it does hold it's own importance in a way. And we get to see another side of Cuddy other than yelling!Cuddy. Apart from that, there's not really much to say other than please enjoy! Oh, and I apologise for taking a decade to get this up. Life is such a _bitch _sometimes. Rest assured that I am taking a notebook with me on my school trip to write some more so that updates will once again become, if not regular, more frequent. Check out my LJ for further apologetic wailings and reviewer responses

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

Nikki stares at the ceiling, her head gently pulsing with light pain and her mind slightly fuzzed with the morphine, and sighs. Lying on your back for a long period of time when you can't sleep and you have nothing to do is very boring, even if your mind is half blank from medical drugs. 

"Nikki?"

That voice, she knows that voice...

"Uncle Jimmy?" she says incredulously. "You've come back after what Dad said?"

"Of course I did. We're family," Wilson replies seriously.

He sits down on the edge of her bed and takes her hand gently in his.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" he asks ruefully. "I've missed you."

"Why didn't you come and find me?"

"Lots of reasons. Your dad. Memories. The fact that you moved away without giving me a return address."

Nikki laughs soft and sadly.

"I've missed you too, Uncle Jimmy," she says. "But was what Dad said true? Were you in a crash with Mom?"

Wilson nods.

"I guess it must have been hard for you as well as Dad," she says thoughtfully. "I don't really remember much of Mom anyway. I guess it would have been nice to know her, but... I've had a good life so far. Don't feel guilty, Uncle Jimmy. I'm not angry."

'_It's strange,'_ Wilson thinks, _'that such small words from a teenager can make a person feel so much better.'_ He smiles.

"We've got a lot of catching up to do," he says. "First of all, the ancient cliché: how's school?"

Another laugh. Nikki has laughed more in the last few minutes than the last few weeks. It feels good. She begins to talk.

House limps into the diagnostics room to find that it is completely empty except for the white board and Cameron's little pink nodding creature with its creepy, vacant smile. As nobody is there and there are no extra symptoms written on the board, House turns around and makes his way to his office. Once through the glass door, he settles down behind his desk and looks at his 'in' tray. Oddly enough, there is nothing in there. Odd especially as Cuddy often sends him a notice about clinic duty if she doesn't get to see him. Deciding that she doesn't want him down there after all, he sits back in his chair and throws his oversize tennis ball against the glass window. It hits the glass and rolls of sight. _Damn._ With a low, annoyed growl, he pulls himself painfully to his feet and casts his gaze left and right, looking for his tennis ball. _'Damn it, where has that thing gone?'_ He turns around to face his desk to see the tennis ball back on the surface. He stares, baffled. _'I didn't pick that up. Who the hell did?'_ He shrugs and sits back down at his desk, leaving the ball alone. It has taken on a sinister air that House doesn't really believe in, but which keeps him away from it anyway. He opens his desk draw and feels around for his Gameboy.

Roughly twenty seconds after he turns on the miniature games console, Foreman bursts into the room with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Dr House, don't you want to know the results of Nikki's lumbar puncture?" he asks.

"You did the lumbar puncture first? Wouldn't it be more logical to do the CT scan first when you can actually move the patient?"

"There were no empty slots until tomorrow," Foreman explains with miraculous patience, "so we decided to schedule the lumbar puncture for today so that we could have some results."

"And you expect me to use my wonderful psychic powers to know this?" House asks, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"No."

House looks pleased.

"I expect you to know from the memo I left in your 'in' tray this morning. Didn't you read it?"

House's face falls.

"What memo?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you need me to write it down?" House snaps. "There was nothing in my 'in' tray, so I say again: _what memo_?"

"The memo that I left here this morning which has apparently disappeared."

Foreman's gaze moves instantly to the trash can and he kneels down next to it, looking for the memo. It would be just like House to simply throw the memo away without reading it. House takes on a wounded expression.

"What, don't you trust me to read the memos you send me?"

Recognizing his handwriting, Foreman plucks the memo he wrote out of the bin and smoothes it out.

"Actually, no I don't," he says. "This is the memo I left you."

House is thrown. He did not throw that memo in the bin. He hasn't seen it before. But somebody came into his office, screwed it up and threw it in his trash can. He alters his expression from shock and anger to a familiar one of vague annoyance.

"Never mind that. What are the results?" he asks.

"She has an increased number of white blood cells and an increased protein level. Glucose is normal. Oh, and Chase said that she's complaining of muscle pain."

"So it's probably an infection," House muses. "Schedule the CT scan anyway. You can't be too careful. And start her on 100 mg of Ampicillin and 600 mg of Rifampin IV."

Foreman pauses.

"That's the treatment for meningitis," he says.

"Yeah," House agrees. "Cameron suggested that. If it's an infection, we might as well treat the most likely cause. Will you chuck that again on your way out?"

Foreman bins the memo and walks out of the room. House curses under his breath. Who would come into his room and bin important documents? Wait, reverse that: who wouldn't? Well, Cameron wouldn't. Cuddy wouldn't. Wilson might if it was his idea of a joke, but unlikely. Foreman hadn't as he had been as surprised as House. Chase? A possibility, but unlikely. An intern? Very likely, he's antagonized at least half of them in his time. Vogler? That bastard would probably love it. But House is woken from his musings by Cuddy bursting through the door. House considers making a quip about her blood pressure, but decides against it. A rare event for House.

"_Where have you been!_" she practically wails.

"Well, I went home, I enjoyed my hooker, I woke up later..."

Cuddy sighs.

"I mean after you had lunch," she says. "I left a note in your 'in' tray that you were to come to clinic as soon as possible."

She sits down in the chair on the other side of House's desk and sighs again.

"I left you a note," she repeats. "I've got Chase covering your shift. What do you think that you're doing? Do you _want_ to give Vogler a reason to fire you? He's probably dreaming up a dozen good excuses as we speak!"

"Okay, three points," House says, raising three fingers to illustrate. "Number one: what Vogler fantasizes about in his spare time is none of my business. Number two: somebody pushed the button on my alarm clock and somebody moved my car keys. Not guilty on either count. Number three: there was. No. Note."

Cuddy raises her hands in a defensive gesture.

"Fine, fine," she says. "If you want to just ignore my notes, go ahead. See where it gets you."

"I'm telling you there was no note!"

Cuddy stands up and walks to the door.

"You keep telling yourself that," she says without looking at him. "It won't make it true."

And she walks out. The silence is more annoying and more... more hurtful than any comment could be. House curses again and struggles to his feet, walking around to the trash can. He notices a piece of paper with Cuddy's neat handwriting on it.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" he asks nobody.

And, of course, nobody replies.

* * *

So yeah. I'll update again once chapter ten is written. So far it has... (goes off to check with word count)... exactly 20 words. It's a start, it's a start. I'll work on it in Paris when I have spare time. Gomen nasai! 


	7. Chapter 7: Missing M&Ms

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't), Chase/Nikki

**Author's Message:** A filler event at the beginning leading to something more important, this is really going to be the last few moments of humor that I'm going to be able to consciously put into this story without ruining the atmosphere. The horror starts soon, I promise! XD anyway, this is a rather dialogue-based chapter as well as being quite long, so please don't burn your eyes out or something unpleasant like that. And as I have no knowledge of medicine, I have no idea how to administer drugs by IV, so I improvised. If it's incorrect, I take full responsibility for my ignorance XD oh, and beware of naughty word in this chapter. In capital letters. XD

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

It takes a lot to get House into the clinic, usually a lot of persuasion or bribery. Guilt does not usually take him down there because House usually doesn't have much of a conscience. But today is an unusual day. Cuddy's exasperation he enjoys and can deal with, but Cuddy's despair is something relatively new and unexpected and House isn't sure how to cope with it. So instead, he goes to the clinic where he can be exceptionally sarcastic without feeling bothered about it. He walks up to the intern on duty.

"Doctor House signs in at-" he pauses to check his watch "-1:03pm to greet the hypochondriacs."

The intern, a nervous-looking young woman with slightly prominent front teeth, blinks like a startled chick and stares. House restrains himself from rolling his eyes, but it's a close run thing. New interns, they'll be the death of him.

"Doctor House signs in at 1:03pm," he repeats slowly, as though to a complete idiot. "Write that down and we'll be getting somewhere."

"Yuh-yes, Doctor House," the poor girl replies.

She writes the information down, the apparent dismay in her face making her look even younger and more immature. House is practically grinding his teeth.

"Now hand me a file and send one of those apparently sick people in," he says.

The intern nods (apparently to bewildered for speech), hands the top file to him and turns the to waiting masses.

"Mr. Hill?" she asks them. "Is Mr. Hill here?"

A young man, eighteen at the most, with a facial rash that can be a mile away, stands up and vaguely waves.

"Can you go into Exam Room 2 with Dr House please?" the intern asks politely, before turning to House and adding, rather unnecessarily, "Can you please go into Exam Room 2, Dr House?"

"No, I think I'm going to go back to my office and bang my head against the desk," House quips. "Just... shut up, and let me do my job."

The intern looks crushed and shrinks down in her chair until she is almost invisible behind the pile of files. House allows himself the liberty of rolling his eyes before following the youth, Kevin Hill, into the aforementioned examination room. House rather likes exam rooms. When they don't have patients in them, they have a particular aspect that he finds very appealing. As some great thinker should have said: Show me an exam room, and I will show you over a dozen places to hide a bag of peanut M&Ms. So it's really rather lucky that this is a complete open-and-shut case so that he will have plenty of time to eat that bag of peanut M&Ms. It's also rather lucky that he chose to hide the M&Ms in Exam Room 2. House pops a Vicodin and limps through the door. Kevin is leaning against the table, scratching his cheek irritably with a thoroughly miserable expression on his face. Once again, House has to work very hard not to roll his eyes at the completely obvious diagnosis. He says nothing to Kevin; instead, he just stares at him. The stare is phenomenally close to a scowl. Kevin clears his throat nervously and runs his hand through his jaw-length hair. House still says nothing. He opens the file and looks through it. It tells him that Kevin Hill has be diagnosed with acne. He rolls his eyes.

Kevin clears his throat again. House ignores it and limps over to some draws, opening them, looking for his M&Ms.

"Um... Dr House?" Kevin asks.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?"

"No."

"But... why?"

"I already know. It's chickenpox."

"What!"

House sighs. Why do people never believe what they're told the first time?

"You have chickenpox," he says as patiently as possible. "It's a virus, there's nothing we can do for it, it's not fatal and you're just going to have to wait for it to cure itself. And don't scratch; it scars."

"So what are you looking for?" Kevin asks, genuinely interested.

"Candy."

"You keep candy in the exam rooms?"

"Why not?"

House slams the second draw shut. Where on earth did he put those M&Ms?

"Why aren't you telling me to go?"

"Where are you going after this?"

Kevin is thrown by this question.

"I, uh, I have school," he replies. "I got math."

"Do you like math?" House asks.

"Hate it."

"So look at it this way: the sooner I send you away, the sooner I have to get back to work and the sooner you have to get to math. Therefore keeping you here is in both our interests."

House opens a fifth draw to find his bag of M&Ms. It's empty. He pulls it out and glowers at it.

"Somebody ate my M&Ms," he mutters, annoyed.

Kevin looks at the bag in House's hand and his gaze slides onto the hand itself.

"Nice ring, dude," he says.

"What?"

"The ring-" Kevin points at it "-is nice. Did your wife give it to you?"

House almost curses. He'd forgotten about the ring. And then he remembers that he didn't bother to hide it all of yesterday. The giver could have seen him wearing it. The giver could think he _cares_. Oh _shit_. He picks up Kevin's file again, scribbles down the diagnosis and limps out of the room, completely ignoring the teenager once again. However, if he'd bothered to look in the trash can on his way out, he would have seen the large pile of brightly-colored candies that are lying on the bottom. His M&Ms.

"My dad's gonna be back soon, Uncle Jimmy," Nikki murmurs. "You'd better go."

Wilson nods, not really happy about it, but accepting of the situation. He can't let his brother see that he was there. Who knows what could happen? Well, somebody could probably imagine, but it wouldn't be pretty. He stands up, ready to leave, just as Cameron walks in through the door. She is holding a pair of syringes containing the medication for the suspected meningitis in her hand. After giving Wilson a brief smile, she crouches down next to Nikki's bed.

"Hi, I'm Dr Cameron," she says.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Nikki asks tiredly but with genuine curiosity.

"We're not certain," Cameron admits, "but we think that you might have bacterial meningitis."

"Oh. That sucks. What are you gonna give me for it?"

Cameron disconnects the IV bag from Nikki's hand as she talks.

"We're going to administer two different drugs, Ampicillin and Rifampin, through your IV and they should cure the disease."

"Okay..."

Cameron inserts first one syringe onto the IV needle then the other, squeezing the medication into Nikki's bloodstream. Wilson lingers by the doorway, unwilling to leave, as though a sixth sense was telling him that something was wrong. It is barely ten seconds later that Nikki starts to gasp for air, her every breath wheezing as she struggles to breathe.

"I can't... breathe!"

Wilson and Cameron both snap into action. As Nikki's eyes close and she slips into unconsciousness, Cameron begins chest compressions. Wilson runs to the door and pushes it open.

"Can I get some help in here!" he yells.

A male nurse comes running, but without waiting for him to get into the room, Wilson begins to rummage through the drawers to find some Epinephrine. The nurse takes over the chest compressions and Cameron tries to insert a breathing tube into Nikki's throat. And Alex Wilson walks through the door. He doesn't notice the activity around Nikki's bed; he only has eyes for Wilson. And not in the romantic sense.

"What the FUCK are you doing in here!"

* * *

Crap, I just remembered that I hate the next chapter because... well, I'll explain there. Again, sorry about the swear. I'll make sure that this is M just in case. 


	8. Chapter 8: Shock

**Title:** Doppelganger

**Summary:** Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?

**Time Frame:** After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.

**Pairings:** One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't), Chase/Nikki

**Author's Message:** Hmm. Lots of physical violence in this one. If you don't like it, please skim over it. Thank you. And please excuse the medical inaccuracies, I'm fourteen and I know very little. I'm just improvising here to make a good story, kay? Thanks.

**Disclaimer:** I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.

* * *

"Get the fuck out, you goddamn bastard!" Alex yelled.

Wilson attempts to keep his composure, but fails completely.

"Shut up and stay the _hell_ out my way!" he snarls.

Finally unearthing the Epinephrine after what feels like a decade, Wilson practically throws himself across the room, pushing the needle in Nikki's IV, and pushing the plunger in. Nikki's breathing begins to even out. Cameron takes the tube out of the teenager's throat, the nurse stops the chest compressions and Wilson visibly relaxes, pulling the syringe out of the IV needle.

"What's going on?" Alex asks.

Cameron sighs, drawing a hand across her forehead, before answering.

"Nikki had an allergic reaction to one of the medications we gave her and she went in anaphylactic shock," she says.

"But is everything all right now?"

"Pretty much," Cameron admits.

"Good."

Alex turns to Wilson and punches his brother in the face. Wilson's head snaps to the side with the force of the blow and his hand flies to his face. He hisses with pain as his fingers brush the bruise that is already blossoming around his eye. Alex grins briefly.

"I've always wanted to do that," he murmurs.

"Ass," Wilson mutters.

For a few seconds, it feels to Wilson that they're brothers again. But then Alex's face hardens with anger.

"What are you _doing_ here? I told you to stay out."

"Nikki asked me," Wilson replies. "I swear she did. Look, I saw Nikki when you said not to, you... you sucker-punched me. Can't we just forget those two little bits and start over?"

Alex scowls.

"If Nikki wants to see you, she can, I guess," he says. "But not when she's sick."

"Why not!" Wilson demands.

"I am not having you bother her while she isn't well," Alex snaps. "She knows where you are now, so she can come back when she's well if she really wants to."

"Bastard."

"Fuck off."

"Deal."

Dealing with Alex is worse that dealing with House. If that's even possible. Wilson leaves, closely followed by Cameron. She has a bone to pick with House.

House twirls the ring on his finger, occasionally pulling on it in a vague attempt to get it off. Each time he fails annoys him more. But then Cameron bursts through the door of his office and he has to cover up the ring quickly. He can't let the giver see it any more than she (well, hopefully she) already has. After all, could be Cameron. But wait, she has her 'Little-Miss-Outraged' expression on. He's in big trouble now. More trouble than with Cuddy's 'Little-Miss-Ass-Kick' expression.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she challenges.

"Well, right about now, I was thinking about how much my hooker charges and wondering how I get a dis-"

"I don't care about your imaginary hookers!" Cameron snaps.

When Cameron snaps, you know that something has gone seriously wrong in the world. House grabs his magic 8 ball.

"Now I get to guess what I did wrong," he says.

"House-"

"I said rude words to an old lady."

He shakes the ball. Cameron looks, if possible, even more annoyed. House sighs.

"Apparently not," he reports.

Cuddy now storms through the door with her 'Little-Miss-Ass-Kick' expression. What is this, Everybody Pick On House Day?

"Do you know what you've done?" Cuddy demands.

"Fine, I give up," House says, leaning back in his seat. "Tell me."

Cuddy and Cameron share a quick glance, as if silently deciding who gets to tell him where he screwed up. The duty falls on Cameron.

"You prescribed drugs for Nikki Wilson that sent her into anaphylactic shock!"

"You mean the ones that were supposed to cure the meningitis _you_ said that she has?" House asks.

"Don't blame Cameron for this, House," Cuddy disputes. "You should have checked her medical record for allergies before giving her _anything_."

House rolls his eyes.

"Fine, fine, I'll check the records."

"It's no good doing it now!"

House stands up painfully and begins limping towards the door as he speaks.

"No," he agrees, "but it's more fun than sitting here listening to you two moan."

He pauses by the door, adding:

"Although if you want to start cat fighting, I wouldn't say no."

The two women's death glares are all he needs to send him 'scuttling' down the corridor towards the diagnostics room. The room is empty except for Cameron's little pink creature, nodding slowly with the light of early evening sun powering its battery. As cute as it may have been in morning light, the thing looked damn creepy in the lower light levels. The file with Nikki's medical records in it is lying on a table. One of his team must have been looking at it earlier. Remembering what Foreman had said earlier about muscle pain, House limps over to the whiteboard and adds the symptom to the list before returning to the folder. Picking it up, he opens the folder.

"What the... shit!" he growls.

The folder is full of torn scraps of paper. Somebody has torn Nikki's medical records to shreds. Now they have no idea which drug she reacted to. But that's not the important question. The important question is: _Who did it!_ The vacuous plastic creature continues to nod, its tiny black eyes staring at House with slowly gaining menace. House isn't usual given to superstition, but that thing is really beginning to give him the creeps. He hears the sound of the door opening behind him, but he doesn't look. It's probably Cuddy or Cameron, ready to complete further bitching. Or Chase to complain about the extra clinic work. Or maybe even Foreman, for some reason or other.

"See? It wasn't my fault," he claims.

Somebody taps on his shoulder. He turns around, annoyed, to see somebody behind him. It isn't one of the Ducklings. It isn't Cuddy or Wilson. It isn't even Vogler. It's House. This person looks exactly like him. Same eyes, same hair, same face, everything. There is only once difference; this House, this double, has no cane. He, it, nods once, as though in greeting, before shoving House in the chest. Taken by surprise, House stumbles backwards, putting weight on his unstable right leg, and it crumples beneath him with a stab of such fierce pain that he cries aloud as he falls to his knees. The double, hands now in pockets, casually puts a foot on House's shoulder and pushes him over. House clutches his leg, trying desperately to stop the pain, his eyes focusing on the face of this strange double as he walks around and into his (House's) line of sight. The double has an expression unfamiliar to the real House's face, one of genuine amusement, with a lazy smile curving the lips, as he crouches down next to the real House and begins to speak in a voice that is identical to House's.

"It wasn't your fault," the double says quietly. "It was mine."

He stands up again, both legs enviably whole, and walks around House again in the direction of the door. House concentrates on breathing, the pain fading in his leg. Suddenly, something slams into his left temple. Fireworks explode in his vision as pain bursts through his skull and the darkness takes him.

* * *

Yeah, I know I said that this is the chapter that I hated? Well this is why: Originally, I had this so that the Wilson/Alex thing was completely fine as long as Alex and Wilson weren't there at the same time. But that just seemed far too easy, so it annoyed me. I read it again and changed a few bits of dialogue so that we now have the bad ending that you see before you. AND THE HORROR HAS STARTED. ABOUT TIME. 


End file.
